


"We're going to Sc....Paris"

by OriginalMagicalArtist



Series: Gentleman Jack One-Shots [2]
Category: Gentleman Jack (TV)
Genre: Angst, Episode 7, F/F, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-06
Packaged: 2020-06-23 15:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19704589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OriginalMagicalArtist/pseuds/OriginalMagicalArtist
Summary: This is my (empathic) take on THAT scene in 1x7 where Anne appears to sense Ann's distress.Surely I am not the only one to notice that Miss Lister is highly empathic and intuitive, and yet no one to write her so far has interpreted this scene that way. I do wonder, given her portrayal in the series, and having not read the diaries yet, if the real Miss Lister wasn't indeed an empath.





	"We're going to Sc....Paris"

She first felt it as she prepared to leave Marian with Charles. She froze momentarily in the doorway as this overpowering sensation took hold of her.

One second with this feeling, this heart shattering emptiness, this gut wrenching, stomach bottoming out feeling of everything being utterly wrong, sand slipping through her fingers, lost. One second of it, and she was compelled to move, fleeing to her room, throwing on her coat, grasping desperately for her hat and gloves

A fresh wave of grief slams into her, forcing her to pause.

_don’t leave me_

Ann’s whispered cry echoes, fading as soon as it appeared, disappearing behind the rush of her blood pounding in her ears. She freezes, ice in her veins. She glances at the mirror, feels the tug of another’s gaze, feels it drawer her closer.

Unable to resist, she approaches the mirror carefully, scarcely able to believe her own actions, the way her body betrays her and instinct takes over.

She’s always had an uncanny way of knowing things. It irritated Marian and fascinated the women she wooed. She had never understood this strange knowing, nor had she ever questioned it. It had never been wrong. Even now, staring forlornly into her own reflection, she couldn’t understand how she sensed the broken soul gazing at her from the other side, but she couldn’t ignore it either.

 _Ann._ The name fell unbidden from her lips, a prayer, a plea. For what, she wasn’t sure. But the overpowering feeling that something was horribly wrong twisted and tore at her already broken heart. She paused for a moment more, before tearing her eyes away, _forgive me_.

She fled the room, taking the stairs at breakneck speed. This feeling demanded action. She was compelled to move, unable to sit comfortably with it. Marian and Charles' fight in the other room fell on deaf ears. She could hear nothing but the roar of her own erratic pulse.

 _Run._ Run where?

She rounded the corner and found Eugenie growling in frustration at Thomas Beeches indifference to her. Anne snapped at the girl when she began hitting herself.

She spoke rapidly, already itching to be moving again. Standing still was painful.

“ We’re going to Sc…” _otland._

She paused, surprised at the word that nearly escaped, and the horrible twist in her gut when she aborted it prematurely.

_Please, don’t leave me_

Taking a steadying breath, she clipped out, “Paris” instead, ignoring the way the word twisted like a hot knife to her chest.

Her servants surprise and alarm at the sudden change of plans irritated her and as soon as she had imparted her orders upon them she turned abruptly on her heels and fled, unable and unwilling to wait. 

No matter how fast she walked, the roar in her ears demanded more.

She fought the urge to turn around and take control of the gig then and there. Though her fear she may set off in the wrong direction, fleeing toward the source of her current misery, rather than leaving it further behind was strong enough to prevent her from attempting it. She didn’t trust herself. What a shock to her system, this inability to trust her own heart was. 

_please_

She swallowed _, no._ She swore to give her time, to not write, to not visit. She could not return there now. She could not let the woman crying out to her unhinge her yet again.

So she willfully shoved down the rising tide of panic, ignored her infallible instincts and prepared herself to run further away. Perhaps in Paris, she could find sufficient distraction and leave this heavy sorrow behind her. She had always outrun it before. _Surely_ she could do it again.

Deep down though, that voice whispered to her still, and she knew. She knew she could flee to the far ends of the earth, but her heart would continue to ache for the part of her soul she was leaving behind.

So she ignored the pained cry echoing in her ears, the hot tears sliding down her chilled cheeks, wrapped her arms tightly around her chest, as if to keep the heart inside her from breaking free and following the pitiful cries in her mind all the way back to the woman who had shattered her. She curled in on herself and fled on foot, running until Thomas and Eugenie found her hours later, having fled for Paris on foot.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I know, the angst. Also, my apologies that this is my first piece on my new page, and not Swanqueen or Otalia But my Muse is relentless.


End file.
